Perfume
by Kyron
Summary: Post '07 Movie.  Jazz ponders the complexity of human pheromones and their relations to Cybertronians.


**Perfume**

Our two species similar on so many levels and drastically different on others. Behavioral processes are so random with the small, carbon-based forms that dominate the planet. Their minds form barely coherent patterns and they have excruciatingly dulled senses. I don't presume to think that Cybertronians are a superior race, not at all. There are many things these humans can do that we cannot. I just find it fascinating that they don't understand themselves and how they work. Granted, there's a few aspects, very few mind you, that I don't contemplate about the inner workings of some components that make up my own physiology. Though I'm certain that the good doctor could fill me in on it but I'm just not crazy enough to ask.

Cybertronians, as a rule, don't produce pheromones. Not in the same essence that humans think of them. They do, however, produce subtle emissions from processor cores and spark resonance that are utilized by other Cybertronians whether it be a means of identification or the marking of one's Companion. They're subtle, probably more so than these chemicals released by various organic species, but none-the-less have the same or similar effects. Human pheromones seem to be unconscious. They don't realize that they're reacting to one another other than the more primal levels they exhibit, don't realize that their behavior is a choreographed reaction to a substance. They just see something that catches their eye and the body reacts. We don't really have a sense of smell, per say. Chemical analyzers interpret the surrounding air and categorize the findings for later review or cross-referencing. New chemicals are constantly updated when we encounter them. So, when Ratchet 'sniffed' Sam and Mikaela, earning him his first of many 'social faux pas' since he landed, he was behaving as any Cybertronian might behave in the same instance. Though most of us would be a bit more subtle than him but last I checked, Ratchet doesn't do 'subtle'. I think that Ironhide has rubbed off on him more than he'd like to think but that's beside the point. Granted, I had not expected their rather embarrassed reactions to his statement, regardless of its truth. The air surrounding the two small humans was so charged with these pheromones that it was nearly suffocating. And neither human either noticed nor cared.

I noticed. Everyone else did too. But what I also noticed, perhaps more so than the others, was the fact that Bumblebee was -covered- in it. Covered as in hardly anything that was his was able to be sensed unless you were in very close proximity. For some reason, that disturbed me and I very much wanted to correct that little finding right then and there. Though, given the children's reaction to Ratchet's rather unorthodox greeting, me jumping his struts right then would have been quite detrimental to their mindsets. And I really don't care what the others would say. They'd understand. Eventually.

Every chance I got to be near him after that, I pulsed my magnetics, my spark, whatever I could, just to let him know he was still mine. And it wasn't a question either since I wasn't asking. I let my little possessive streak run a bit and earned myself a highly amused Bumblebee and some return pulses in the process. That alone was worth it because he wasn't asking either.

Sadly, I didn't get my opportunity to correct that situation then and, once the fight in Mission City started or rather, abruptly ended, I wouldn't ever get to. Not completely anyway. So, now that I'm back among the walking and processing…

Bumblebee was waiting for me, just outside the area that Ratchet had claimed as the medical facility. Prime was there as well as Ratchet helped me hobble my gimp self out the door but I didn't notice him, really. All I saw then was 'Bee and the emissions he was putting out. He was pensive, nervous and tense. By Primus, he was shaking. But then again, so was I, just for slightly different reasons. Neither one of us moved for a long moment, he didn't know how he should react, I think. He wanted the same thing I did, to just cling to each other and not let go until our arms failed, but wasn't sure if we -could-. I remember Ratchet assuring Prime that I wasn't going to keel off again any time soon, remember the quiet talking and finally the slight nudge from the medic and his instructions to 'Bee that I was to rest, end of story. Bumblebee nodded a bit numbly, murmured a quiet thank you, and reached out a slightly trembling hand to take my own equally shaky hand and lead me off to where the living quarters were situated.

I was pretty much out of it for days. My energy was easily depleted and I stayed in stasis more than I stayed awake. 'Bee stayed right there, allowing Ironhide to take over his young charge until I could at least stay awake through the day. He would talk to me, even when I didn't have the energy to respond, telling me things about this planet that I might be interested in all while exercising his voice as the Doc had ordered. It was soothing to hear. His resonance changed over time. The less time he spent around the humans, the more I could sense of him. The perfume of pheromones that had previously coated him was beginning to fade. That calmed me down, made my spark pulse, however weakly, to reinforce and reassure him as much as myself. His voice caught then, the sound scratching roughly like gears grinding.

"Easy, 'Bee…s'okay." I said, lightly stroking the arm that held me against his chest, trying to sooth him in return. He squeezed me to him just a bit tighter, ever mindful of the still sensitive repairs, and nuzzled my helm, pulsing his own spark in return.

The day I was given the 'all clear' to leave the hanger was the same day I decided it would be a fantastic idea to hide all of Ratchet's portable scanners. Predictably, he was not a happy medic. Prime and Ironhide found it highly amusing that I could still get Ratchet's 'goat', to use a human term, even while still in recovery. Call it a personal mission. His tirade lasted for a solid hour before he yelled that 'if I was energetic enough to play jokes then I was energetic enough to get the slag out of there before he welded me to the ceiling'. Couldn't have that since, coincidentally, that's where some of his equipment was. Bumblebee just looked at me, optics wide, when I told him the 'good news' after he'd returned from taking Sam home. I gave him my most disarming grin, the picture of innocence if I do say so myself, before dragging him outside with me. He and I had been waiting to do some 'catching up' time and, slag it all, we were going to get it.

I love how he moves. Really. He always said that I was the graceful one but I just think he doesn't pay close enough attention to himself. That's okay. I'll give him all my attention instead because I want to see him move. It's not squirming, not writhing, not even thrashing, it's this delicate arching that he does to press us together. The motion looks like a wave in a bottle, constant and even. Drives me crazy and he knows it. He'll usually be subtle with it, taking his time in teasing me, only not today. I'll be honest, I don't want slow and even. I want to reclaim what's mine, reduce the potent concoction of human chemicals that surround him, because I'll be slagged if I don't and then end up losing him again. I feel him grip my shoulders, bringing us together somewhat roughly. We were frantic, all forms of our usual creativity tossed out the preverbal window when we link. Fast and still gentle, Bumblebee's way. I wanted more, the not-so-gentle side of his presence. He would only relent so much, keeping himself remarkably in-check even as I was clinging to him practically begging for it. I overloaded quickly, crying out and collapsing against his chest, my head on his shoulder.

Apparently, while my strength was getting better, my stamina had been shot to the Pit. I could feel the energy cackling around him, he wasn't even close yet. Not one for the whole 'unbalanced overload' prospect, I reached my hands around to his back, ready to delve into the nooks and crannies that I -knew- were capable of pushing him onward when he spoke up, trying to tell me to 'not worry about it'.

Aw, slag no.

I just gave him a single look, trying to convey exactly what I thought about that idea and where he could stick it. It worked, anyway, and he immediately shut off his vocalizer. Satisfied that he wouldn't voice any more 'complaints', I continued.

But by Primus was he sensitive, too. I had to adjust myself to straddle his hips when he started to buck but still managed to have him surging in nearly record time. Afterwards, he lightly traced a single finger down my face, contentedly. I just cheesed a grin at him and curled up on his chest, quite happy to remain on warm plating and listen to overheated systems as they cycled down. He chuckled and rubbed my shoulders. I gazed at him tiredly, noticing for the first time that my paint was scratched to hell.

"You're so helping me retouch that later." I said, trying my best to sound admonishing and failing miserably. Besides, every bit of white on him is just another mark for me. He just chuckled again and sent a warm pulse of solar energy, causing me to give a hum of satisfaction.

We both ended up staying at the Witwicky's residence, thus letting us to remain close together and letting me recoup a while longer. The human 'scent' still lingered on him and I doubted it would ever really leave unless we left the planet entirely. Sometimes, it was just Sam, other times Mikaela and occasionally Miles. But now, beneath it all, was still 'Bee. My 'Bee. And I'm making sure that every Cybertronian on the planet knows it, too.


End file.
